


Dream A Little Dream

by DarkestElemental616



Category: Supernatural, Superwood - Fandom, Torchwood
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Multi, Other, Serious Things happening to Serious People
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1876608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkestElemental616/pseuds/DarkestElemental616
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Jack loses Ianto, he runs. Unfortunately, there are monsters out there, and when one offers him the chance to stay with Ianto—forever—can he resist?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stars Shining Bright Above You

**Author's Note:**

> Just a warning: I have not seen Children of Earth. At all. So if I flub any details on the specifics, that's why.

Months of being practically alone played tricks on one’s mind. Jack had unfortunately had _plenty_ of experience with that. With Ianto gone, it was just him and Gwen, and Gwen…well, she had a life outside of Torchwood. She had _Rhys_. And Jack had nothing left anymore.

So he ran. He ran, and he buried himself deep in the sea of humanity and tried his damndest to forget about anything even remotely related to Torchwood.

He should have known better, really. Even the smell of the burnt sludge his current motel called coffee was enough to bring the memory of Ianto straight to the surface.

 _“Morning, Jack,”_ he would always say, smiling gently and holding out a mug for Jack to take.

The immortal buried his face in his hands, muffling a quiet scream of frustration as the tears welled up again. He should have been able to save him. Hell, the _Doctor_ should have been there to save him, but the Doctor had never shown up.

Jack had been through every possible iteration, every scenario, and there were hundreds of ways he could have acted differently, thousands of steps he could have taken _if he’d only known_.

Preoccupied as he was, Jack never heard the door to his room open.  He’d barely registered the presence as a) _there_ and b) nonhuman before a heavy hand clamped down on the bare skin of his neck. His hand never reached his pistol. Jack slumped onto the desk, barely breathing, and the world went black.

* * *

“Jack.”

Jack groaned, curling more tightly into himself. He wasn’t going to do this to himself again. Not _again_.

“ _Jack_.” Ianto’s voice grew more insistent, and a warm hand closed on his shoulder, shaking him gently. “Come on, wake _up_.”

“…You’re not real.”

Ianto clucked sympathetically from somewhere above him. “It was that dream again, wasn’t it.” He didn’t wait for a response, just shifted and draped himself over the older man. “But I’m _here_ , Jack. I’m here, and I’m all right. We all are; you and me and Gwen, we’re _fine_.”

“No, I saw—” Jack finally turned his head to see Ianto looking at him, the little wrinkle of worry heavy between his brows. Doubt wormed its way in. “…What did I see?”

“A nightmare,” Ianto said quietly. “That’s all. Just a nightmare. It’s all right, Jack. I’m here, and I’m real, all right?”

Jack took a deep breath, trying to wake up. He’d been waking up for weeks— _months_ —without Ianto by his side. He knew deep in his gut that the other man was dead. There was no way he could have imagined the entire 456 incident, the way Ianto’s breath had rattled faintly before stopping completely.

But then again…

He reached out to stroke Ianto’s cheek, feeling soft, warm flesh under his fingertips and the other man’s gentle breath ghosting across his palm.

Real. Every sense was telling him that this was real, even as he surged up to pull Ianto tightly against him, burying his face in Ianto’s neck and breathing in _Ianto’s_ scent, exactly as he remembered it. There was still that niggling sense of _wrongness_ in the back of his mind, but he ignored it. Ianto was right here in his arms, and quite frankly Jack was far past the point of caring anymore. He’d had enough of losing people that he loved.

* * *

They’d been tracking the djinn for weeks before they even realized what it actually was. By then, it had already taken down an elderly woman in her home and a businessman who’d allegedly been answering a call for help on his way home, at least according to his wife. She’d been on the phone with him at the time and said that she’d heard it too: the frantic cries of a teenage girl from a nearby motel.

That had been last week. And naturally, the motel owner (sadly completely human and not hiding anything) hadn’t seen a teenage girl at all, never mind anyone who was a) female and b) seemed suspicious in any way, shape, or form. But at least they managed to secure permission to search the motel rooms.

“Djinn can’t fake another person’s voice, can they?” Sam asked, using the master key to let himself into another empty room. It was completely unoccupied on the manifest, and unfortunately in reality too. They were running out of rooms to search, and with them their slim lead on the djinn.

“Not that I know of. Of course, if they _have_ , then we’ve got yet another friggin’ variation of djinn to deal with.” Dean poked around the room, taking a quick peek under the bed before declaring the room monster-free. “Okay, it’s not here. Next room.”

Sam nodded, heading back outside. He was half-expecting the trail to just go cold here. Honestly, sometimes they lost track of the monsters. Sometimes they escaped. It had happened more than once, unfortunately.

He swiped the card, peering in. Immediately, the smell of blood assaulted his nose. He could make out someone on the bed, hooked up to a makeshift IV.

“Dean!” he yelled, even as he charged inside. “Dean, hurry up! There’s someone in here!”


	2. Night Breezes Seem to Whisper 'I Love You'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, using song lyrics as titles is soooo original, I know.

“What did you want for breakfast?” Ianto asked once Jack had finally managed to let him go somewhat. “We can probably get away with calling in sick today. We deserve the break, after all, and…”

“I know, I look like hell.” Jack smiled weakly. “Why not?”

Ianto’s mouth curved into a mischievous smirk. “We can call later. Let them worry for a bit.”

Jack laughed as the smaller man kissed him and rolled out of bed. “Hey, where are you going?”

“Breakfast. We need energy if we’re going to be staying in bed all day. I _know_ you after you’ve had a dream like that, and I’d like to be able to properly reassure you.”

“You know me too well.” Jack watched him go, a stupid grin plastered onto his face. His dream was rapidly fading, replaced by the reality. And this _was_ reality. It couldn’t be anything else. Nothing smelled, felt, _tasted_ like reality did, and he’d been alive long enough to go through hallucinations, time loops, alternate realities, you name it, he’d done it. And this felt like _none_ of them.

They ended up eating eggs and toast and not much else, because Jack refused to let Ianto get more than a few feet away from him. He hovered while the Welshman made breakfast, constantly tangled their fingers accidentally-on-purpose as they sat across from each other and ate.

Ianto let him, clearly worried about Jack’s clinginess but enjoying it all the same. “We’re definitely not going anywhere,” he said firmly, tugging Jack back down the hall to the bedroom. “We’re going to have sex, watch movies, and laugh at how Americans view aliens.”

“Was that supposed to be an insult?” Jack joked. Ianto didn’t know the whole story of Jack’s life—no one did, not even Jack anymore—but he knew well enough that Jack only _sounded_ American. It had become something of an in-joke between them, something only they shared.

“Why, are you going to discipline me?” Ianto responded cheekily. “Because I don’t think that’s exactly a deterrent anymore, Jack.”

“Don’t think I won’t think up something _really_ good this time.” Jack grabbed Ianto, moving with his initial instinctive attack response and flinging them both onto the bed. He crawled on top of the other man, kissing him deeply. “And I’m going to take my time about it, trust me.”

* * *

 

“Dude.”

“Shut up and help me get him out of here,” Sam said sharply. “The djinn could be back any second, and there isn’t exactly a lot of space in here for us to worry about not hitting an innocent bystander when it does.”

“No, seriously, Sam, stop. This guy checked in here _weeks_ ago. Djinn’s victims, they usually last, what, a few days, maybe a week if they’re tough? How in the hell is this guy still alive?”

“Maybe he just got caught a couple days ago.” Sam tried to untie the guy, get him down, but Dean laid a firm hand on his shoulder. “I mean, you recovered pretty quickly, and that one had you for almost half a day. If he’s fighting it…”

“Yeah, well, it just so happened that what that djinn was offering didn’t measure up,” Dean said shortly. “But seriously, Sam, look at his stuff.” He sifted through the small bag on the table. “This guy’s living out of one damn bag. He’s on the run; I’m pretty damn sure of it. Why would he stay in a crappy motel in the middle of nowhere for over a month? That thing’s had him here for a while. He should be dead.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not.” Sam shook Dean’s hand off and focused on gently taking the needles out of the man’s neck. “And the sooner we can get him to a hospital, the less likely he’s gonna be.”

Dean growled in frustration. “ _Dammit_ , Sam, will you listen to me?! This guy was poisoned by a djinn _weeks_ ago, getting fed off of, and he looks healthy as a damn horse! Something’s goin’ on here, and we’re not moving him till we find out what.”

“He’ll _die_.”

“Something else is goin’ on here.” Dean yanked Sam’s hands away. “And we’re gonna find out what. He can hang in there for a couple hours. However long it takes the djinn to get back. Then we gank the damn thing and take care of him, okay?”

Sam glared at his brother, pure fury and disbelief written across his features. “…Dean, he’s _dying_.”

“Get in the damn bathroom and out of sight before the fucking djinn comes back and gets us both, Sam,” Dean commanded coldly. “ _Now_.”

The bathroom was tiny, and neither of the Winchesters were exactly small men, but they managed to get a somewhat-comfortable stakeout going. Dean took the position directly behind the door, just in case Sam decided to try something stupidly heroic, and Sam got to perch on the toilet like an oversized Rodin sculpture. The room was barely visible though the slit between the door and its frame, but they could hear just fine.

The man hung there silently for hours, barely even twitching. Occasionally, he’d gasp or moan, but it was almost disturbing how far in the dream he clearly was. Dean couldn’t help shuddering. Had he looked like that? Even fighting, had it shown at all on the outside?

“…Is he doing okay?” Sam asked quietly. He could see even less than Dean, given his position, and the sounds he was getting ranged from disturbing to terrifying. “I thought those dreams were supposed to be _good_.”

“Kinda depends on your version of ‘good’. Maybe it’s wearing off—” Dean fell silent as the lock clicked. The djinn had returned.

The monster in question was a middle-aged woman. She stroked the man’s face thoughtfully. “You’re really enjoying this dream, aren’t you? You haven’t even tried surfacing in over a week.”

Sam didn’t dare move and risk making noise, but oh, he wanted to. He couldn’t see what was causing that intense look of concentration on Dean’s face, and it was pure _torture_ having to get all the details from audio alone.

Dean held up a closed fist. _Wait_. They needed a little more first. She was still facing the bathroom door, could still react fast enough to put one or both of them under before they ganked the bitch.

Finally, she turned away from them to check on the needles, sipping a few drops of blood from the bag until she noticed the one that Sam had carelessly removed and tossed aside. Dean flinched as she picked it up.

 _Get ready,_ he signaled to Sam. _I’ll be decoy._

The younger Winchester nodded, fingers tightening around the hilt of his silver knife. They’d have a few seconds of leeway at the absolute most.

“NOW!” Dean bellowed, shoving the door open and emptying his gun into the djinn. It wouldn’t hurt her, not long enough to do any real damage, but it gave Sam the opportunity to charge and bury the knife in her gut.

She choked, grinning half-crazily up at Sam. “You’re too late to save him. He won’t…won’t wake up now.”

Sam let her fall, jaw clenched in barely-suppressed rage.

“You okay, Sam?” Dean asked quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Get her blood,” Sam snapped. “We’re waking this guy up and getting him to a hospital.”

Dean huffed, clearly not taking that for an answer, but he went to the car to get the syringe and hopefully fend off the manager before he questioned the shots fired, or worse, called the cops. Competent ones who’d see through the fake badges would be just their damn luck right about now.

Luckily, the manager was both gullible and completely chicken. He hadn’t called the cops, and once Dean patiently explained that he and his partner had it under control. They’d take care of everything and be out of his hair as soon as they took care of the hostage, yes there was a hostage, no they didn’t need help and could he _please_ let the FBI take care of their own business now?

He returned ten minutes later with the syringe, filling it with the djinn’s blood.

“You _sure_ you’re okay?”

Sam had unhooked the victim from the ceiling and was pulling out the last of the IVs with a dangerous expression on his face. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“We got her, okay? He’s gonna be disoriented, maybe cry a little, and then we’re gonna take him to the hospital and he’ll be _fine_. He gets to go back to whatever he was running from, and we move on.” Dean found a vein and emptied the syringe, rubbing at the injury to get the blood into his system faster.

Sam nodded, tight-lipped and silent.

“Hey. It’s okay. Just give him a few minutes.”

“…She said he wasn’t even fighting. For over a _week_.”

“So?” Dean shrugged. “It was a good dream.”

“Considering the circumstances, should we really be waking him up?”

Dean blinked in confusion. “…Sammy, he’s gotta get back to reality. It _sucks_ out here sometimes, but you can’t do anything about it when you’re locked up in your own head.”

Twenty minutes and change later, the man hadn’t responded at all. Dean checked his pulse, finding it still there, but weak and getting weaker. He looked over at Sam, seeing the tightness of his frame and the twitching tic in his baby brother’s jaw.

“Sam—”

“One of us has to go in there.” Sam lifted his head, eyes fierce. He didn’t want to lose this guy, not now. Sometimes victims died, and there was nothing you could do about it, but they _could_ , and damn if Sam was letting this one go without a fight. “Inside his head, to pull him out.”


	3. Birds Singing in the Sycamore Tree

…Okay. So. He’d seen worse. Just not _much_. Jesus, even _Dean_ wasn’t that damn kinky.

“ _Shit_!” Sam swore, turning away as quickly as he could to face the wall, a flush spreading across his face. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

“Jack? Did, uh, you invite him?”

“…I didn’t. Pretty sure he wasn’t there a second ago.”

“I suppose we’ll need to take him in, then.”

Sam could _hear_ the pout in the other man’s voice. “Can’t it wait five more minutes?”

“ _No_. And _you_ , don’t you dare move.”

Sam stopped edging out of the room, gulping. “Sorry, I, uh, was only expecting the one person. Trying to—sorry.”

There was silence for a short moment before one of the men asked, “Sure we can’t at least…?”

A sigh. “ _No_ , Jack. Control your libido and get your pants on.”

Sam stiffened as a gun barrel pressed between his shoulderblades. Dream or not, he got shot more than enough times to be wary of being on the other side of a projectile weapon of _any_ kind. “I’m just trying to find someone. Have either of you, uh, been…touched by a girl with glowing blue eyes? A djinn?”

“And what exactly is that?” Ianto asked suspiciously. Behind him, Jack hurried into a pair of slacks.

“It’s a monster. It…it locks people in their dreams, feeds off of them. And I was trying to…” Sam took a deep, slow breath. “…This is a dream. And I’m trying to find the dreamer.”

“Cute. Ianto.” Jack tapped the Welshman lightly on the shoulder as he tugged his bracers on. “Go ahead and get dressed. I’ll cover Mister Sandman here.”

Sam dared a glance as he heard the other man retreat. “It’s you.”

“Me?” Jack snorted. “That’s cute. If this were _my_ dream, it would be a lot scarier. Giant muscled intruders who look like models wouldn’t feature much.” He tilted his head a little, considering. “… _Much_.”

“I heard that,” Ianto chided.

“Anyway, djinn are the stuff of fairy tales. I’ve been all over time and space and never found any solid evidence of ‘em. _You_ , on the other hand, popped up in my bedroom without setting off any alarms or opening any doors. And that takes some skill in _this_ house.”

“Ready, sir.” Ianto tugged his tie into place, clearing his throat. “If you could call the Hub, I’ll restrain the intruder. And get a description to them, too. We might be able to find out who he is. Long shot, but…” He trailed off at the little smirk on Jack’s face. “What?”

“Giving me orders?” Jack asked innocently.

“I’d just rather we actually manage to keep him in custody instead of having someone distract you and possibly escape… _again_.” Ianto raised an eyebrow at Jack, completely unfazed by the apparent threat of authority hiding behind his lover’s question. “Go on. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Jack’s mouth before he nodded his assent, snapping a quick picture of Sam with his phone before dialing, walking out of the room as he did so.

Sam watched him go, a horribly sad expression on his face. That didn’t escape Ianto’s notice; very little did.

“What is it?”

“He’s staying for you, isn’t he?”

The Welshman frowned a little. “I’m sorry?”

“When my brother and I took down that djinn, he wouldn’t wake up. We couldn’t figure why he was stuck in the dream, what could be keeping him here…” Sam took a deep breath. “And…you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

A chill went down his spine as blue eyes narrowed in understanding. “You shouldn’t be here.”

The hunter swallowed, trying not to let his trepidation show. “Look. You’re…obviously someone really important to th—to Jack. But he can’t _stay_ here. If he doesn’t wake up, he’ll die.”

Ianto half-smiled, though his eyes were sorrowful. “He may, yes. But he’s happy. That’s rare enough these days. Leave him be.”

“I can’t do that.” Sam couldn’t just leave a man to die. The real world sucked, sometimes sucked a _lot_ , but the point was that it was _real_. You couldn’t move on if you were stuck in a sugar-coated fantasy.

Jack wandered back in, pulling his greatcoat over his shoulders. “Okay, we’re good to go. They’re setting up a search and equipment, and everything should be ready by the time we get there. No days off for Torchwood after all, huh?”

“Unfortunately the Rift doesn’t seem to understand the concept of a holiday,” Ianto said smoothly. “Did you remember the handcuffs?”

Jack’s face fell. “Uh. Where were they again?”

Ianto let out a little sigh, to Sam’s amusement. “In the dresser, second drawer from the bottom along with the Weevil spray you insisted we have around and the riding crop.”

“…I did _not_ need to know about that,” Sam muttered, making a face.

Ianto just smirked, and Sam was _sure_ the man was doing it on purpose. Christ, was he like this in real life too, or was it just Jack’s dream version?

“Wrists out,” Jack commanded.

Sam obeyed, keeping his eyes fixed on Ianto. And sighed as they pulled a blindfold over his head. “ _Really_? I don’t know where I _am_ , much less where we’re going. Do we really have to do this?”

“Two words: Secret. Base.” Jack didn’t bother mentioning exactly how secret; all things considered, that was something the intruder didn’t need to know. Along with the fact that they actually happened to _have_ a blindfold on hand, and…okay, there was no actual reason to blindfold the kid, but there was no point in backing down _now_.

They led Sam out to the SUV, putting him in the backseat. Jack kept half an eye on the prisoner as Ianto swung into the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel tightly enough for it to creak.

Jack had only very rarely seen Ianto this angry, and it scared him.

“This, uh…this isn’t because he interrupted our day off, is it?” Jack asked softly. “Do you know him?”

Ianto shook his head, eyes fixed firmly on the road. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not ‘nothing’, Ianto. I know you.” He laid a gentle hand on his lover’s arm. “Did he say anything to you that I should know about?”

“Still here, in case you’re wondering,” Sam huffed from behind them. “I’ve never seen him before in my life. And I didn’t say anything that you didn’t already hear.”

Jack snorted disbelievingly. “Right. And Ianto’s not the type to get upset over ‘nothing’.”

Thankfully, a soft but insistent beep sounded from the dashboard.

“It’s Tosh,” Ianto said, tapping a button to activate the two-way radio. “We’re listening.”

_“I’ve been running the photo you took through all the databases I can find. Nothing in the UK, but I found plenty of hits in the United States. I’ll send you the relevant files. Be careful, you two.”_

Sam stiffened. Okay, to begin with he wasn’t even in America, so there was no hope of even trying to find a familiar landmark to convince Jack that he was in a dream. And even worse—probably because of the African dream root—the very structure of the dream was now drawing from _his_ memories, too. Which meant…

Jack let out a low whistle. “Wow. That’s quite a record there, from the FBI no less. Graverobbing, murder, multiple counts of grand theft auto, bank robbery, and, uh…credit card scamming. That one’s less impressive.”

Ianto glanced over at the list. “Apparently he’s been keeping it up for a while. Still impressive.”

 _“That’s not all,”_ Toshiko continued. Silently, Sam begged her to stop. He needed to retain some credibility, any credibility at all. Of course, it wasn’t his dream to command. _“He’s also been declared dead by the government. Quite a few times. There are no records of how he could’ve gotten over here, though that might take some more digging, and…you said he was alone?”_

Jack and Ianto shared a look.

“Yeah,” the captain said hesitantly.

 _“If I were you, I’d keep an eye out, then. He has a brother. And they’re usually never too far apart.”_ Tosh let out a nervous laugh. _“Their files have been flagged for being extremely dangerous criminals,_ especially _when separated.”_

“Cute,” Jack muttered. “All right, Tosh. We’ll get there as fast as possible. Keep looking, and try and find that brother of his. This isn’t our jurisdiction, but we can at least keep an eye out. Maybe save a few lives.”

Sam gritted his teeth in frustration. He knew his record was relatively clean—at least compared to Dean’s—but this only made his job that much harder. They’d never believe him now. It was hard enough convincing people about the supernatural, never mind his and Dean’s relative innocence.

He had to face it: he was pretty much screwed. And now, so was Jack.


End file.
